"Raymond E. Feist - Riftwar Legends - Honoured Enemy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

features were pale, and a trickle of blood coursed down his cheek from a slashing blow that had
laid open his scalp just below the edge of his dented helmet. 'I'm sorry,' he gasped quietly. He
knelt down and picked up a clump of earth, his gaze fixed on the old sergeant-at-arms lying in the
centre of the grave, surrounded by his dead comrades. The grave-diggers were hard at work, but no
earth had yet to fall on Jurgen. The man could have been asleep; except for his blood-soaked tunic
he almost looked as if he would sit up and smile, revealing his crooked teeth. The young man had
often dreamed of his first battle, and the heroic deeds he would accomplish. Instead he had been
on the ground, looking up at his enemy like a frozen rabbit, fumbling for his dropped sword and
screaming in terror ... and then Jurgen had stormed in, cutting the Tsurani down with a single
blow.
In saving Richard, however, Jurgen had left himself open to an enemy spearman who had charged
straight in. Jurgen had been looking into Richard's eyes when the spear struck; there had been a
brief instant, almost a flicker of a smile, as if he was a kindly old man helping a child out of a
minor scrape, just before the Tsurani spear struck him from behind. Then the shock of the blow
distorted his face and the spear exploded out of his chest.
Richard had watched the life fade out of the old man's eyes. It was only a moment, yet it seemed
an eternity, the light fading, Richard knowing that the old man had made the sacrifice of his own
life without hesitation.
He looked down at Jurgen now. The corpse's eyes were closed, but in his mind, and in the
nightmares that would come for the rest of his life, the eyes would be open, gazing back at him.
'It should have been me instead of you,' Richard whispered, barely able to speak for his grief.
He bent almost double, sobs wracking his body. He knew the others were watching, judging him. Why
didn't they cry? he wondered, and he felt ashamed for all his failures this day.
He let the earth fall from his hand, recoiling as the clump hit Jurgen's face. Embarrassed, he
drew back and turned away, shoulders hunched, shaking as he struggled unsuccessfully to hide his
tears.
The few who followed Richard, most of them silent, tossed the ritual handful of earth into the


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grave then turned away, eyes empty of emotion.
The company formed up for the march, Alwin detailing men off to bear the litters of the wounded.
The grave-diggers were nearly finished. In spite of the cold their faces were streaked with sweat
and their hot breath made clouds of steam in the air, as they hurriedly worked to complete their
task.
At the edge of the clearing Dennis continued to stare with unfocused eyes at the forest.
Something, a sensing, refocused his attention. A lone bird darted through the branches overhead.
The angry chatter of a squirrel echoed.
His left hand drifted down to the hilt of his sword. He looked back over his shoulder. Gregory had
been kneeling beside a Tsurani, studying the face of the enemy soldier as if he might learn
something about the alien invaders from this man's still features. He had sensed what Dennis had
sensed, that someone was approaching. His gaze flickered to the men lining the trail. Several of
the old hands were already reacting. Others, noticing this, started to react as well.
Dennis watched Alwin and was disappointed, for the new sergeant-at-arms was several seconds behind
Gregory and himself, but finally he raised his left hand, palm outward, at the same time drawing
his right hand across his throat, the signal for everyone to fall silent and freeze. Dennis turned
to look back at the forest, not yet giving a command.
Gregory listened for a moment, then relaxed. He looked at Dennis and nodded once, then smiled.